Wishful Seeing (14 page)

Ashby appeared not to notice the dig, and continued scribbling things down on his list of things to do.

Martha spent the morning fussing over what she should wear. After the excursion to the Cold Springs meeting, her Sunday-best dress had been stained and covered in dust and it had taken a great deal of sponging to get it clean again. She didn't want to run the risk of further damage to it, but at the same time she wanted to look presentable for the Gordons — after all, they were supporters of the church and would be sure to remark on the appearance of their minister's granddaughter, so it behooved her to put her best foot forward. On the other hand, if something exciting happened, she didn't want to be sidelined by worry over whether or not she was going to get her dress dirty.

She had only two others to choose from, her everyday dress or her oldest dress, the one she wore when she was scrubbing the floor or weeding the garden. She tried on the oldest. Maybe it could be gussied up a little so that she looked presentable, but at the same time, it would be unlamented should it become stained or dirty or torn beyond repair. It was a little too short to be proper, she decided, and the bodice was starting to feel tight. She must have grown again. She would have to let the hem down before she could think of wearing it in public. While she was at it, she would open up the darts and let out the waistline as well. But even then, she decided, it was a little too worn-looking to be mistaken for anything but a third-best dress. She would have to wear her everyday and hope that nothing happened to ruin it.

Thaddeus went out right after their noon dinner and it was easy enough to guess where he was going, for he took the copy of
Mansfield Park
with him. Martha was in the kitchen washing the dishes when there was a knock on the front door. She rushed to answer it, hoping it might be Ashby. Instead, it was a young boy who was carrying three leather-bound ledgers.

“Miss Renwell?”

When she confirmed her identity, he shoved the books into her arms.

“Mr. Ashby said to give you these. And don't worry, he's already paid for the errand.” And with that, the boy tipped his hat and skipped down the porch stairs.

She took the books to the dining room table and flipped open the topmost. They were shipping records from the steamship companies that most often carried passengers to and from Cobourg. Ashby hadn't wasted any time getting them.

She finished the dishes, then went outside to grub up a few more potatoes from the garden. She had carrots and turnips and a little beef left over from dinner. She would make a pot pie for their supper, she decided, and whatever was left from that they could take on the road with them, along with some bread and cheese. It would be an odd breakfast, but it had the advantage of being eminently portable.

Mrs. Small was outside, too, checking on the state of the linen she had draped over some bushes to dry. She called a hello and ambled over to the fence for a chat.

“You had company, just now,” she said.

“Not really. Just a delivery boy. I ordered some books.”

“They looked like mighty heavy reading. I thought maybe it was that young barrister at your door again.”

Martha liked Mrs. Small well enough, and certainly appreciated that she was willing to do the heavy chores for the manse, but whenever Martha talked to her lately, the woman seemed to be clumsily fishing for details about the Sherman murder.

“No. It was just a delivery boy.” Mrs. Small would hear no details if Martha could help it.

“Your Mr. Ashby is cutting quite a caper in town, isn't he?”

“Oh really? Is he?” Information could flow both ways, Martha decided. She was curious to hear what Towns Ashby had been up to.

“Oh my, yes. They say he's standing drinks at the Globe every night.” The older woman tutted her disapproval and then eyed Martha closely to see what her reaction to this intelligence might be. “And, of course, the girls are all a-flutter. They say he's from a very good family. He'd be quite the catch for any one of them. Even the Boultons are impressed.”

“I'm afraid I have no knowledge of what Mr. Ashby does in his spare time,” Martha said. “Our contact with him is purely on a professional level.”

“Oh yes, Mr. Lewis has taken a great interest in this case, hasn't he? Finding a lawyer for Mrs. Howell and all. He's a good man, to do that for her. Lots of folks have remarked on the amount of trouble he's gone to for her.”

Martha took this to be a warning. She supposed it should come as no surprise that the town was talking about Ashby. After all, Ellen Howell was big news, and the man who was defending her was handsome and young. What did surprise her was that people were talking about her grandfather and his role in the case. There was an undercurrent to Mrs. Small's remarks that Martha didn't like at all. She wondered if she should say something to him. But how do you tell your grandfather that he's the subject of Cobourg's latest hot gossip?

Light was just breaking across the horizon when they got underway the next day. Martha climbed up onto the seat of the light buckboard rig Thaddeus had picked up from the livery and held her face to the rising sun as they trotted through the outskirts of Cobourg. It promised to be a fine day, warm for the third week of October, and with no sign of rain in the sky. Little conversation passed at first. She and Thaddeus were content in each other's company, and Martha's mind was free to wander.

If only it would. She was unable to tear it away from the unsettling exchange with Mrs. Small, a subject that she thought she had exhausted while trying to fall asleep the night before. She dismissed the gossip about Ashby as no more than he deserved. As much as he claimed that drinking at the Globe was a strategy designed to collect information, she rather suspected that he spent a great deal of time in the town's other drinking establishments, as well. After all, the first evening he had come for dinner he had made a comment about foregoing his cigar and brandy so that they could all discuss the case.

Nor was she surprised, although she was slightly annoyed, at the reference to fluttering girls. Ashby was a good-looking young man who appeared to have a great deal of ready money jangling in his pockets. He could hardly fail to attract female attention. And it wasn't that she was jealous or anything — she wasn't sure she even liked him all that much. He was exasperating at times and not nearly serious enough for a lawyer who was defending an accused murderer. It was almost as though he thought it was a game, and that if he didn't win, well, better luck next time. This wouldn't be much comfort for Ellen Howell. And she wasn't at all sure what losing the case would mean to Thaddeus.

She had a very strong suspicion that her grandfather had a greater interest in the proceedings than merely wanting to see justice done, and it appeared that the Cobourg gossips thought so too. She didn't quite know what to make of this. The notion that her grandfather would behave inappropriately with a married woman was ludicrous. He was the most upright man Martha knew. She had wanted to defend him, to argue that he was, after all, a minister, and was merely offering spiritual solace to a person in dire need of comfort. She would have, if she had been surer of her ground.

He had not confided his reasons for helping Mrs. Howell and Martha had not questioned his motives. She assumed that there was a higher moral or ethical reason for everything her grandfather did. But now Mrs. Small had made her doubt him.

“Do you think Mr. Ashby will win?” she said, suddenly breaking the silence.

“I don't know,” her grandfather responded.

“What will you do if he doesn't?”

Thaddeus stared stolidly ahead, obviously uncomfortable with her question. As curious as she was, Martha didn't dare press him for an answer. From the time she first arrived in Cobourg, he had paid her the compliment of treating her like an equal, and she treasured the fact that they could joke so easily with each other. But he was still her grandfather, and there were some things you just couldn't ask.

She would have to trust that he would tell her what was going on when he thought she needed to know. And with that decided, she was able at last to sit back and give herself up to watching the passing scenery.

After a time, Thaddeus brightened up and starting pointing out the sights along the way, the houses that welcomed a Methodist minister, the halls and schoolhouses where he had held meetings.

“Another hour will see us there,” he said at one point, and Martha began to look forward to getting down out of the lurching cart. Her legs hurt from bracing them against the buckboard when they jolted over a bump or descended a hill, and her back was starting to ache from sitting in such an upright position for so long. She wondered how Thaddeus managed to endure so much travel. It was no wonder he complained of a pain in his knee at times.

They began to pass heavy wagons hauling gravel and lumber and throwing up dust, and here and there through the trees she could see signs of the railway construction.

“I didn't realize they were so far along,” Thaddeus remarked at one point. “They'll be to Sully before you know it.”

And then the work would be hidden again by the thickness of the woods and the hilliness of the land, making it difficult to see anything, and she would fall to studying the farms and little hamlets they passed, wondering to herself what it was like to live there.

Thaddeus was quite hungry by the time they pulled into the laneway that led to Leland Gordon's tidy white farmhouse just south of Sully. They had long since eaten the makeshift breakfast Martha had packed, and even the jug of water she had tucked by her feet was nearly empty.

As soon as they reached the yard, the porch door of the house was flung open and Mrs. Gordon hobbled out, smiling in welcome.

“Mr. Lewis! What a pleasant surprise!” she said, “and you brought your granddaughter with you! Come in, come in. Have you driven all the way from Cobourg today? You must be starving and dinner's nearly ready to put on the table. Would you join us?”

Thaddeus shot a wry glance at Martha. He had been right. The Gordons would insist on feeding them. Martha climbed down from the buggy and followed the old woman as she began walking back to the house. Thaddeus led his tired horse over to the water trough and met Leland coming out of the barn.

“Mr. Lewis! This is a pleasant surprise. What brings you out this way?”

Thaddeus quickly explained his mission, then appealed for Gordon's help. “It would be useful to me, Leland, if you could spare some time to come with us. At least the Howell girl knows who you are.”

“I'm not sure how much help it would be,” he said. “I can't get near her. Nor can anyone else. One of the English families, friends of the Howells, tried to fetch her, but they couldn't find her. They said she'd obviously been there, but she wouldn't answer their calls.”

“She wouldn't come out, even for them?”

“No.” Gordon was obviously uncomfortable with the topic, and he hesitated before he spoke again. “I'm not saying I know this for a fact, and I'm certainly not sure enough to tell anybody else about it, but I think George Howell is there, too.”

When Thaddeus thought about this, he realized that it made perfect sense — Mrs. Howell's lack of concern about her daughter, Ashby's conviction that she was protecting someone with her silence, the Howell girl's sudden disappearances whenever anyone came near. The only thing that was surprising was that no one but Leland seemed to have figured it out.

“Wouldn't someone be watching the place, though? After all, Howell is wanted for murder.”

Gordon shrugged. “No one much goes near the place at the best of times, and whenever they do, the dog causes a racket long before they get there. Howell would have plenty of time to get away, especially if he's got a bolt-hole somewhere.”

Everyone was sure he had left the country anyway, Thaddeus realized. And there were only a handful of constables for the entire district. One of them might check in at the farm once in a while, but none of them would have time to sit there and wait for Howell to show himself.

“I'm only telling you this, Mr. Lewis, because I've been wrestling with my conscience,” Gordon said. “Even if I report what I suspect, it won't bring the dead man back. I'm not sure what's going to happen to Mrs. Howell, but I can't do anything about it anyway, and turning her husband in won't make any difference to her defence — if both were to be found guilty, it would mean two of them would hang instead of just one. I don't like George Howell, but I don't want to be responsible for his death, either. And at the same time, I don't want to put you in unnecessary danger. I have no idea if Howell is armed or not, or what he would do if cornered. You see my dilemma.”

Thaddeus did, indeed, and was beginning to have second thoughts about his decision to bring Martha along.

“I've told you this in confidence,” Gordon went on. “I would prefer that it remain between us, but if your judgment is clearer on the matter than mine is, then you must do what you have to do. But more than anything, I would like your opinion.”

God bless the Methodists, Thaddeus thought, forever willing to wrestle with their souls over questions of right and wrong. He smiled at the worried farmer who looked so earn­estly for his advice. “My opinion is that the Sully meeting made a wise choice when they accepted you as a lay preacher. I agree that it's a thorny issue when the law is at odds with your principles, but you already know what the answer is, Leland. You must follow your conscience.”

Gordon nodded and looked relieved. “I don't agree with an eye for an eye, no matter what the Bible says. So what are you going to do now?”

“I'm not sure,” Thaddeus said. “Maybe I should go away and leave them alone. The lawyer wants to talk to the girl, but he assumed she was alone on the farm, and that her father was long gone. She's unlikely to tell anybody anything if he's still there.”

“That's true enough. At any rate, you shouldn't do anything until you've had some dinner. We'd better go in. Mother will be wondering what we're talking about out here.”

After Leland fetched a bucket of feed for the horse, Thaddeus followed him into the Gordon kitchen and sat at the table while Martha bustled around, helping to serve up the meal. She couldn't have done anything to recommend her more to someone like Mrs. Gordon. The old woman clucked and fussed and told Martha to sit, but looked pleased at the help all the same.

Thaddeus said grace, and then Mrs. Gordon turned to him. “Young Martha here tells me that you're going to the Howell farm. I'll pack up what's left of our meal when we're done. You can take it to Caroline.”

“It was our intention to go when we set off,” Thaddeus said. “I'm not so sure now that we should do that. Leland seems to think that maybe we should leave her be.”

Martha looked disappointed. He would be, too, he supposed, if the promise of a great adventure turned out to be nothing more than a long drive, followed by dinner and another long drive.

“If you're going by anyway, you should at least stop in and leave the food,” Mrs. Gordon said. “No one seems able to get close to the girl, but you could just leave it in the kitchen for her.”

“I suppose you're right,” Thaddeus said, and Martha brightened up a little. There was certainly no harm in just stopping by, he reasoned. The girl would probably run off at their first approach, like she'd done before. He could have a look around, and if there was nothing to see, he and Martha could be on their way.

“How is poor Mrs. Howell?” the old woman asked. “The poor thing, stuck in a gaol cell. Couldn't your young barrister get her out?”

“It's complicated. Something to do with having to apply to a higher court. The trial will start in a few days, anyway, so she's already done most of her waiting.”

“What are the chances of his winning the case?” Leland asked.

Thaddeus sighed. “It seems hopeless to me, but he remains optimistic. I have no way to judge whether his investigations will lead to a successful defence or not, but at least he's digging around. Or rather, I'm digging for him, I suppose.”

“What does he want you to find out?” Mrs. Gordon said.

“Well, for one thing, where Jack Plews was on the day of the murder.”

“Plews? I'm afraid you're out of luck there,” Leland said. “He's left the district entirely. Gone off west somewhere, to live with his cousin, or so I heard.”

“That family always was thick as thieves,” Old Mrs. Gordon said. “The Plews and the Palmers and the Dafoes always look after each other.”

Martha suddenly sat up very straight and cocked her head to one side. “Is the man who found the body from that same family? The Dafoes, I mean.”

Thaddeus had made the connection as well, and looked approvingly at Martha.

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Gordon said. “They're all intertwined. The Dafoes and the Plews and the Palmers. One sneezes and the others catch cold.”

“The family certainly seems to have had more than their share of difficulty holding on to their land, haven't they?” Thaddeus ventured.

“They certainly have,” Old Mrs. Gordon said. “Donald's father lost his farm, and so did his uncle. And then Jack, under very peculiar circumstances, if you ask me.”

“Was it the same farm that was lost each time?”

“No, no, different ones, but all in Hamilton and Haldimand Townships. I misremember what the problem was with them. Donald's father, and his uncle, Lem Palmer, and there may have been another one as well. Like I said, they're all so mixed up together it's hard to keep them all straight. Lem's son married an aunt of Donald's, and I'm not sure, but I think another one married Jack Plew's mother. That would make them what? Cousins at the very least. You remember Jack's mother, don't you Leland? She had a lovely voice and used to sing at meeting.”

Leland just shrugged and looked apologetically at his guests.

“You don't happen to know when, exactly, Plews went west?” Thaddeus asked.

Leland shook his head. “No. He stayed with his sister for a time after he sold the farm to Howell, I know, but I couldn't tell you when he left the district. I just remember hearing that he had, and I can't even tell you when I heard it. It was probably just something that was said at meeting. I could ask the sister the next time I see her if you think that would be helpful.”

“I think it might,” Thaddeus said, but he had no idea how. “Thank you.”

As soon as they'd finished their meal, Martha offered to help with the dishes, but Old Mrs. Gordon shooed her out the door.

“You folks have a long drive home,” she said. “You don't want to be held up any longer than you have to.” She turned to Thaddeus, “I hope you realize what a fine girl your granddaughter is, Mr. Lewis. You bring her back here any time.”